


Heiress of the Wolf

by LaikaFlash



Category: Soul Calibur
Genre: Author Is Not Religious, Backstory, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, One Shot, Plague, Pre-Canon, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-24
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-25 20:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30094959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaikaFlash/pseuds/LaikaFlash
Summary: The year is 1579. The bereaved princess of Wolfkrone must come to terms with her future at the tender age of seven, and her father is ready to guide her.(Written with Soul Calibur VI's timeline in mind.)





	Heiress of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in August last year on very little sleep, and I hemmed and hawed about it for... quite a while. Bear in mind that the bubonic plague [didn't completely disappear after the 14th century.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_plague_pandemic#Major_outbreaks) The first mentions of the beaky plague doctor masks and getup are from the 17th century, so forget those here.
> 
> But really, I just wanted to write about Hilde and her father before the Evil Seed happened. The plague element of the story was drawn from SCVI's museum entries of Wilhelm and the king. That said, I don't know if I can honestly say I would've written it any differently if it hadn't been for the ongoing pandemic. This is a setting where people had a faint understanding of contagion at best, but the concept of quarantine [already existed by then.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quarantine#History)
> 
> Mood music: Hammock - Frailty (For the Dearly Departed)

The plague had swept through the kingdom of Wolfkrone in midsummer, bringing with it a miasma of mortal fear which permeated even the court. The first shock to King Georg had been the news that his brother Theobald discovered a painful swelling on his inner thigh, a mark of impending death. Theobald, strategist and architect of the Silver Wolves, left his military plannings for his sickbed, with only a physician tending to him. The king once found Theobald’s son Wilhelm pressing his ear to the wall.

“It’s quiet,” the redheaded boy said. He looked up at the king as though expecting him to say something, for he wanted an answer from his uncle—any answer. The king only gestured for him to leave the hall. At sunset, the physician confirmed the dreaded tidings. The king put aside the ancestral sword and spear and resolved to wait out the pestilence in the castle, lest he further risk his own life. But officials and servants alike were already wary, for the plague had claimed many of the latter.

When the first signs of the plague appeared on his nine-year-old son, Alfred, Georg could feel the kingdom itself waiting anxiously for the red-headed prince to walk out of his sickroom with a trace of a miraculously healed sore to show for it. Only a day after Prince Alfred’s isolation, Queen Dietlinde shut herself away for fear of the plague destroying the kingdom’s future. By then, the king knew it was too late for her. For all the court physician’s efforts, the platitudes of the servants, and his own prayers, he felt as helpless as any man amid a disaster. He had lost count of the nights he checked his body for buboes and feared for his little daughter’s life. In a matter of days, he heard the princess sobbing from the bedchamber that had been all hers since her brother took ill.

_ It was for the best,  _ he reminded himself. Princess Hildegard was spared the sight of blackened, gangrened fingers, at least.

A long and stately funeral for the departed royals was held in the cathedral. On each stone coffin, their recumbent figures were sculpted onto the lids, the heads supported by a cushion and hands folded as though in prayer, all appearing asleep and unblemished. On the bases, a seated wolf was carved onto each corner, looking outward as though to guard them, all flanked by sprigs of lily-of-the-valley. There had been an array of flickering votive candles on the side-altar; the king could scarcely imagine how many had burned for the deceased beyond the castle grounds.

Foremost were the bereaved among the royal family. Theobald’s widow was with their children Wilhelm and his older sister Liselotte. The high chancellor Garibrand von Rüdiger stood at the furthest end of the row, his gray head bowed for his daughter and grandson. Princess Hildegard stayed at her father’s side throughout. Her little hand felt so delicate and cool in his. Her face was wan and her brown eyes were puffy. Here was a lively seven-year-old as still as a fawn. Just a few days ago, she had been an eager mock combatant for her brother, all while their uncle lay feverish on his deathbed.

_ Dies iræ, dies illa. Solvet sæclum in favilla.  _ The day of wrath, that day will dissolve the world in ashes. If Hilde even understood the chant, what was the Last Judgement to such a young child? As it was, some part of her own little world had already crumbled. Whatever would she be without her wise and gentle mother or her dear brother?

_ My child, I understand,  _ Georg wanted to say to her. What more could he tell her? However carefully her nursemaid had related it to her, she knew by now that they would not come back. She clung to him, perhaps out of a realization that her father, too, was mortal. Doubtlessly she had also asked why Alfred was not spared. Georg had asked himself this as well. Still no answer came to mind.

_ Dona eis requiem sempiternam. _ From the priest swinging the thurible over the coffins, a plume of incense smoke wafted to the ceiling and filled the nave with its pungent scent. By this and the sprinkling of the holy water meant the deceased were absolved of any past sins. The plague spared few, with no regard to the state of one’s soul.

As the procession lifted the coffins one by one from their biers, the princess hid her face in her father’s robe. He lightly patted her shoulder; he could hear her sniffling. She lifted her head and grabbed a corner to dry her face. What did he care for the robe in that moment? Hilde was far more precious than that. Though the king maintained a stoic façade, the thought of it struck him as surely as an arrow. She was now his heir! But such a talk with her had to wait, perhaps until morning.

“Papa, I’m scared,” Hilde said in a hushed voice. “I prayed every night like  _ Amme  _ said to do, but… That didn’t work. Was it because I was bad?”

“No, child. It wasn’t for anything you or anyone else did. The physician did all he could.”

“I didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Today the whole kingdom is saying goodbye.”

Hilde mouthed a farewell for each one carried into the somber stone edifice of the von Krone mausoleum. Queen Dietlinde was the first to be laid to rest in the vault, with the smaller coffin of the crown prince Alfred to be laid next to her. After Theobald was at last brought in, Wilhelm cast an expectant glance toward the king. He returned an understanding nod. The king and his brother had agreed that the boy would be under the former’s tutelage should the need arise, and since Theobald had been sickly since his youth, the matter had been decided years in advance. Georg would do no less for his nephew.

* * *

That night, King Georg shut himself away in his chamber as soon as his duties allowed. On the wall to his right was an oil painting of the queen, seated with a serene expression, her hair tucked beneath a veil topped by her crown, her fair, slender hands clasped over her waist stood in contrast to her crimson, ermine-trimmed robes. It had been commissioned as a wedding gift; the painter had exquisitely captured her youthful aspect then.  _ Dietlinde, may I never forget the woman you were,  _ Georg mused. In one hallway there was a portrait of himself with Dietlinde and the children; he had been in little mood to linger there. The halls of the castle were silent, save for the quick tapping of little footsteps. A light knocking on his door followed, and the king tentatively rose from his chair. A little voice came from the other side.

“Papa? Papa?”

He opened the door to the little princess. She was in her light blue sleeping gown, and her red hair was askew. “Hildegard,” he said, not without a little annoyance, “why aren’t you in bed?”

“I can’t sleep,” she plainly answered.

“Neither can I, child.”

Much to Hilde’s disappointment, the nursemaid soon caught up to her. “Your Majesty, I’m terribly sorry that she’s disturbed you. I’m sure you understand why she’s been so restless.”

_ “Amme _ , _ ” _ the girl protested.

“Not to worry,” the king said as he took the girl’s hand. “I shall have a little talk with her. You may go and rest.”

“As you wish, sire,” the nursemaid said with a curtsy.

After the door was shut, he sat down by the window. The half moon peered through a ragged break in the clouds. Hilde seated herself at his side, glanced at her mother’s portrait and then tugged the king’s sleeve. He had been looking at the shadowed towers and the torchlight within them.

“Papa, do you think Mama’s with Alfred?”

“I should like to believe so,” the king quietly answered.

_ “Amme  _ said she would take care of him while he waited for us in Heaven. I just wanted her here.”

“As did I,  _ Schatz.” _ Hilde curled up against his side. She seemed so small and delicate next to him. So much could happen to her before she came of age. “I’m sorry that you’ve had to be shut away, but until the pestilence is gone from this land, you must bear with us. Do you understand?”

Hilde nodded. “I wanted to see them, just for a bit. I know why  _ Amme _ wouldn’t let me, but I miss them so much.”

“That is natural.” He offered her a handkerchief, and she dabbed away a few tears. “I, too, was advised against visiting them, as much as it hurt me to wait. What’s more, I lay awake afraid that  _ you _ would also be lost to the plague.”

“Is it true that the plague makes the fingers and toes rot?”

“Yes, Hilde. That means the person is well near death. Do you remember what you’re to look out for?”

“I haven’t found any weird bumps on me,” Hilde quietly said, recalling how the nursemaid had anxiously scrutinized her body for buboes.  _ It’s for your own good,  _ she was told.  _ For your sake, dear princess, hold still. Please, for the kingdom’s sake, hold still! _

“Good.” His broad hand patted her head. “What happened is a lot to bear. In just a few days, the both of us have lost a brother, for one thing. By the time I was Alfred’s age, your uncle Theobald had lain sick in bed so often that there were whispers that he would not live to reach manhood. Even so, he grew to be a brilliant man, and hopefully you’ll see in the Silver Wolves what he did for our kingdom. He will be remembered as one of the twin pillars of the kingdom, and I fear that epithet may be all too apt.”

“But Papa, I heard you were always so brave.”

“Everyone has fears,  _ Töchterlein.  _ The absence of fear is not a measure of bravery. And death is one of those things that we all must come to understand, as much it may frighten us. One can fight for one’s own life or the life of his men, but death does not always come on the end of a blade. You see, I had been afraid because there was little that could be done to keep any of them alive.”

Hilde cast her eyes about. “Papa, are you going to get a new queen someday?”

“Now, what makes you say that?”

“That’s what kings do when their queens die, isn’t it?”

“So it is, but not so fast now. Hilde, no one could take the place of your mother nor Alfred in my heart. I’m certain you feel much the same. I’ve hardly had time to even consider marrying again, so you needn’t worry about that. Right now, you are far more important to me.”

“How?”

“You are my heir. This kingdom will look to you as its future queen. I’ll see to it that you are taught the ways of battle.”

“Me?” she gasped. “But I…” A flood of questions arose in her mind; she could not yet decide which to ask first.

Her father gently held her little hand. “Know that warriors aren’t born, they’re made. The arms that my father passed down to me will someday be yours to pass on. Your brother’s training started when he was your age, so you’ll have more than enough time to become accustomed to it.”

“With Wilhelm?”

“Yes, you’ll be taught alongside him.”

“What if I don’t get strong enough?”

“Remember that the fangs of a she-wolf are just as sharp as those of her mate’s, and she can be just as swift and fierce as he. Whoever denies that isn’t fit to teach you. And if he did, he’d get some choice words from me.”

Hilde stifled a giggle at the last part. “A queen,” she breathed.

“A ruling queen at that,” Georg added with a slight smile. “You’ll have much to learn soon, my child, so it’s past time you went back to bed.” He scooped her up in his arms and rose from his seat. Hilde yelped as she clung to him with all her might, feigning shock at this sudden turn.

“No fair! You were up too!”

“True,” he said as he made his way down the hall. “But, of course, a ruler needs to sleep as much as anyone.” He gently let her down on the floor. The nursemaid, with a small lantern in hand, was waiting by the open door to the princess’ bedchamber.

“Your Majesty, it would have been remiss of me to not see her to bed.”

The king nodded and nudged Hilde’s back. Hilde turned to him and asked, “Papa, may I see that painting of us first?”

“Very well.” The nursemaid handed him the lantern, and he followed the little girl down the hall. The royal family portrait was the work of the same artist, which was completed in the previous year. The royal pair stood next to each other in their finery. The king bore the ancestral short sword at his hip and spear at his back, the latter held so that the banner of Wolfkrone unfurled behind his shoulder. Even at that position, the howling red wolf of the royal emblem was proudly visible. Alfred and Hilde were depicted in comparatively modest attire: he in a soft red tunic and breeches, and she in her sky-blue dress. Even the little mole just below her mouth could be seen. Tied at the boy’s hip was a small scabbard, from which a wooden hilt stuck out. It was the hilt of the same toy sword that had lain untouched since the last time they played together.

“I’m glad this was made,” Hilde said. “Mama looks just right. So does Alfred.”

“You’ll always have memories of them, Hilde.”

“Papa?”

“Yes?”

“When this is over, could we go somewhere?”

“Where do you have in mind?”

She looked up at him and put her hand to her chin. “Hm. Any place you can get to.”

“Well, I shall still have diplomatic duties to attend to. Perhaps someday, as long as you’re well enough, you can accompany me on such a visit. Of course, you’ll have to be on your best behavior, too.”

“You promise?”

“That’s a promise.” King Georg briefly knelt to kiss her forehead.

“Then I’ll wait.”

He tousled her hair and smiled. “As you wish.”

Princess Hilde went to bed with a newfound confidence. She glanced at the pair of toy swords and remembered the last mock battle with Alfred. Even in play, he demonstrated the stances he had learned for real combat, and he had delighted in her mimicking them.  _ You strike like one of the Egilmar sisters, _ he told her, beaming. Hilde decided that such praise meant a good start before she had realized it. She dreamed of those matches and her mother’s sweet voice and demeanor. From the next morning onward, she wanted to make them all proud.

**Author's Note:**

> The Latin snippets are from _Dies irae._ [Full text and translation courtesy of Wikipedia.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dies_irae)
> 
> Translations for the German bits, in order of appearance:  
> Amme - "nursemaid"  
> Schatz - "dear" (literally means "treasure")  
> Töchterlein - diminutive of "daughter" ("Tochter")
> 
> Working title was "Wolf and Cub"; I thought that might sound misleading.
> 
> I spelled a few names differently because the name "Dietrinde" actually annoyed me enough to make me go _I reject your reality!_ And so I substituted it for my own. I'm aware that Dietlinde is a really old and dated name, but I'd swear the transliteration was decided on a coin toss. As for the king, I don't know why it is that a few characters in this series got anglicized names in the first place (e.g.: Siegfried's parents), so this time I said "Screw it."
> 
> The named ancillary characters here were at least mentioned in the Museum entries from the Hilde DLC. There's no mention of Wilhelm's mother at all, if memory serves, but his own bio mentions his sister. It's also not said outright in Hilde's Soul Chronicle that Garibrand is her maternal grandfather, but it is in his bio. And I copped out on the queen's hair color since we don't see her. Come to think of it, the king looked like a brunet in the illustrations (maybe a bit reddish?), but the in-game model is [this ginger bastard.](https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/soulcalibur/images/8/85/EKXSm88UcAAZgsL.jpg/) Maybe it was the malfestation.
> 
> If you don't mind my babbling about minor Soul Calibur characters, check out my ongoing fic [The Harlot and her Son](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797842/chapters/52015024). Please do heed the content warning.


End file.
